


Dear Dr. Lecter...

by AxmxZ (Boanerges)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Advice, Bad Advice, Crack, F/M, Gen, Hannibal crack, Humor, M/M, Relationship Advice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3199697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boanerges/pseuds/AxmxZ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctor Lecter's advice column. "Because you need professional help." (tm)</p><p>Check out my tumblr at http://axmxz.tumblr.com - mostly Hannibal most of the time</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> brokenponiesmendedteacups asked:
> 
> Dear Dr. Lecter
> 
> I love a TV show about a serial killing cannibal. Fantastic art, writing, acting and cinematography. But my male friends cannot watch it and it does not get nominated for the Emmys. Have you seen this show and do you understand what is going on? Is the gay subtext and absence of hyper-masculinity the problem? Any insights would be deeply appreciated!

Dear brokenponiesmendedteacups,

There are several reasons why your male friends might turn their snouts from the audio-visual feast that is ~~my~~ the serial-killing cannibal’s life. 

It could be the gore. I am reliably informed that girls see more blood than boys. If that’s the case, try to be understanding towards them. Perhaps they simply want to avoid fainting in your presence, either because they think it would undermine their standing in your esteem, or because they are wary of you drawing stylized reproductive organs on their faces with permanent marker.

However, it could also be the relentless (mesmerizing, intoxicating, knife-cuttable) sexual tension between the male leads. Nevertheless, I would not call the gay subtext and the absence of hyper-masculinity a *problem* per se. After all, I presume your male friends would not call a problem the fact that 99.5% of all romantic and sexual objectification on TV and in the movies is aimed to please only the straight male minority slice of the audience pie.

To cut a long story short, tell them to f*ck off and go watch some f*ing My Little Pony or “Backdoor Sluts 9” if they’re such f*ing babies they can’t handle seeing two dudes having eyesex, jfc.

Laters,

That Guy from That Thing


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fuckyeahilike asked:
> 
> Dear Dr. Lecter: I am a magnificent but inexplicably single woman in Baltimore, population apparently 12, with only 2 eligible bachelors: an unstable, night sweating empath haunted by a ravenstag; and a wealthy serial killer cannibal who cosplays as a wendigo. Who should I choose? Would a ménage à trois be out of the question? I'm concerned they might want to bring their pets into bed, and I don't mean the empath's 8 dogs, although I wouldn't put it past him. Blindedly yours, Alana.

Dear Alana,

I’m not sure why you’re sending this via e-mail. It sounds like a conversation more suitable for a tête-à-tête. But if that’s your preferred medium, I suppose I owe it to you to play along.

Where to start? I am aware that Will has made overtures of a romantic nature to you, and that you declined them. It comes as a bit of a shock now to learn that you are still considering his candidacy, especially since I thought you and I were exclusive. But I am not entirely surprised, just as I am not surprised by your proposal of a ménage à trois. The thought had crossed my mind as well.

Let’s be honest, all our ménages to date have been à trois. I can’t recall a single time when talking about Will did not serve as either a prelude to our retreat into the bedroom or an intermission between the acts. To be frank, I’m not sure where our sex life would be without him. It can’t have escaped your notice that under my perfectly coiffed and pressed exterior, I’m pushing fifty. If you think all men my age have a refractory period of three minutes, think again. But with Will's unseen presence in our bedchamber, it’s like I’m tapping into leftover reserves of teenage libido.

However, the more I think about this, the more I realize that I should just skip the middleman - or, in this case, middlewoman. Will is on my mind so much these days that it’s hard for me to focus on ~~staying in character~~ giving you my full attention. Surely a magnificent, soon-to-be single again woman like yourself deserves better than being someone’s ~~beard~~ ~~alibi~~ ~~instrument of blackmail~~ fling rather than a long-term prospect?

In short, I think it would be in everyone's best interest if we parted ways. And don’t you dare visit Will in jail anymore - I will claw your little blue eyes right out of your pretty little head.

No longer yours ~~and thank God~~ ,

Your ex-mentor and now ex-lover

P.S. As for Will’s dogs (I believe he’s only up to seven), I doubt he’d be bringing them into bed with us. He doesn’t even let them up on his own bed. He’s quite good at training them, actually.

Isn’t it odd that I know this about him and you don’t?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fuckyeahilike asked:
> 
> Dear Dr. Lecter: My daddy's got a new boyfriend. Now, I know what you're thinking, but I'm not the jealous type. I like to share with my brothers & sisters & I'm only too glad that dad's finally got someone to keep his toes warm than isn't covered in fur. But this new guy feeds us sausages that taste strongly of people to me (I should know, I bit the mailman often enough) & has like these red eyes that make him look like what humans call the devil. Should I be worried? Bark, woof, Winston.

Dear Winston,

First of all, I must regretfully tut tut at you. Tut tut, Winston. Whence this shameful prejudice against eyes of an unusual color? Surely your daddy has taught you better than to judge animals based on their physical appearance. One of your sisters has a maloccluded jaw. Your own coat has faded grey streaks that betray decidedly mixed-breed origins. Frankly, I am surprised at you, Winston. Did you know that one of your daddy’s most intimate friends is a black deer?

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I have to ask: just who did you used to belong to, that you carry such intimate knowledge of what humans call the devil?

(I'm willing to let the second point, i.e. the taste of mailmen, slide. Who among us has not been tempted by sweet, sweet mailman flesh?..)

Will tells me he found you on the side of the road leading to his farm. Is there a devil-worshiping cult tucked away somewhere in your neck of the woods? Did you used to belong to it, before you met Will?

If that is the case, Winston, I hope that you will feel comfortable telling me about it. I am not here to pass judgement on your past transgressions. My only worry is for your daddy. As you doubtlessly know, he has of late developed an unfortunate habit of wandering around your neighborhood _en déshabillé_. I shudder to think what might transpire should he fall into the wrong hands. I am fairly confident that he is not a virgin, but even so, he does have a certain air of … inviting vulnerability to him. I would hate to see anyone ~~else~~ take advantage.

Yours truly,

People Sausage Man

P.S. Who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy! Look at that tail. Waggy waggy waggy! Who’s got a fuzzy tum-tum? You got a fuzzy tum-tum. Who wants a treat? You wants a treat!

*pulls out his pocket square, which turns out to be tied to an endless sausage chain*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fuckyeahilike asked:
> 
> Dear Doctor Lecter: I love my evil brother's money, but he won't give it to me, no matter how much I love it or beg him for it. I've tried killing him as a token of my affection, but that didn't work in my favor either. What should I do? Must I be resigned to forever be parted from the love of my life, his money? Please don't say "Get a job". Respectfully yours, Margot Verger

Dear Margot,

I am somewhat puzzled you chose to contact me in my off hours rather than bring this up during our next session, but of course, I am always there for my patients when they need me. Plus I’m not one to decline additional billable time.

I confess, my familiarity with your situation vis-a-vis your brother is not purely academic. In my home country, - let’s call it “Not-Poland-Latvia-or-Belarus-or-Germany-or-Russia thank you St. Casimir" - I was heir to a sizable estate myself. Yes, I stood to inherit a great deal of nifty things - a small, drafty but neat castle; a minor title of nobility; some brass knick-knacks decorated with an ominous escutcheon of a snake either eating a dude or barfing him up, I could never tell which...

And what did I end up inheriting, you might ask? Only my bizarre name. I am of the firm opinion that my great-great-great-etc.-grandfather that started this sad chain of Hannibals back in the mists of history was only out to make all his descendants as miserable and sore-thumbish as he himself felt in this world.

Anyway, where was I going with this?.. Right. Inheritance. Sometimes, detaching from your parental estate can be a blessing. In my case, it allowed me to become a self-made man - if one discounts male privilege, white privilege, affluence privilege, able-bodied privilege, etc. That aside, adsum qui feci - I did it all myself.

Why not show your brother up by establishing a small business? Perhaps a stable, to capitalize on your talents? Maybe teach dressage to other affluent brats? Just a thought. It doesn’t have to feel like a job, is all I’m saying. And that way, you will truly own all your money, instead of letting it own you. I don’t *have* to practice psychiatry and consult with the FBI, but I enjoy doing it. It gives me a wide arena in which to show off my various talents to a great deal of people who otherwise would not be exposed to my awesomeness.

Anyhoo, that’s just my two grosz’s worth of advice - or złotys, rather, considering that I will be charging you the $500 minimum hourly consultation rate for this missive.

(Honestly, I think you might also benefit from a money management course.)

Toodles,

Dr. H. Lecter, PsyD, MD, PhD.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fuckyeahilike asked: 
> 
> Dear Dr. Lecter: I'm a tabloid journalist who makes a bundle at the expense of other people's tragedies. Some say I'm a psychopath who ought to be ashamed of herself, but changing wouldn't make me any richer, so you see the problem Could you "persuade" them to cooperate with me, so I can sell sensational news to the public and become wealthy? PS, I made my first buck selling false hope to cancer patients. You wouldn't happen to know anyone like that, would you? Obnoxiously yours, Freddie.

Dear Freddie,

I say “dear” because that’s the customary way of opening a letter. If you ask either my personal or my professional opinion, you are in all likelihood dear to absolutely no one.

I’m not entirely sure how you expect me to aid you in your undertakings. Buy an ad banner on your website commanding your various stalking victims to stop covering and let you hose them to your heart’s content? Pen an editorial on the benefits of nation-wide exposure? I’m all ears. (Well, more ears than usual, after yesterday’s stew.)

Similarly, I’m not sure what you’re looking for vis-a-vis cancer patient pointers. Surely it would be more fruitful to stake out cancer wards? And what would you do if I did give you a name - mail them a flyer for an herbal remedy? Hardly worth the effort. You know better than I do, surely, that a scam of this sort require a large number of recipients for any kind of payoff. One casts for herring with a net, not a fishing pole. Or maybe you were intending to try and sell fake cancer remedies door to door? In that case, I can think of few worse ways to introduce yourself than “Hi! Doctor Hannibal Lecter sent me!”

In closing, you are awful, and you smell bad.

Sincerely,

Ginger Slicer.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> brokenponiesmendedteacups asked: 
> 
> Dear Dr. Lecter?! Hannibal, WTF?!!! You were supposed to leave, use a new identity and move around Europe. You were NOT supposed to start an advice column using your real name! I can only think you did this so i would contact you. So, do you want to talk about anything, like anything that happened the last time we saw each other? If not, then why are you asking to be caught like this? Yours, Mongoose

Dear Mongoose,

Permit me a brief detour into sentimentality, but I wonder at that choice of word: “yours”. Are you really mine? Were you ever? Will you ever be? and so on in that vein.

With respect to the, ah, meat of you letter - surely you don’t imagine that you have any authority - legal, moral, or conjugal - to dictate my actions? Leave, adopt a new identity, move around Europe - I was _supposed_ to do all this with you and our adopted daughter. By me. _I_ was the one who supposed that we would do all these things, together. But _you_ supposed that I would be doing them alone. It’s true what they say: when you suppose, you make both you and me into a suppository.

In other words: up yours, Mongoose.

Sincerely,

Not Hannibal Lecter.

P.S. I hope you don’t imagine I’m stupid enough to post this column through an unencrypted connection? I could be in Italy, or Lithuania, or Burundi, or at that now-abandoned devil-worshipping compound seven and half kilometers to the south-east of your farm.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> omgpurplefattie asked:
> 
> Dear Dr. Lecter, I hope this finds you well. Do you take requests? Please see my uncle's business card, enclosed. All the best. Sincerely, Tired of the Embarrassingly Loud, Off-Color Jokes in Public

Dear omgpurplefattie,

I regret to inform you that I do not take commissions. I am not a contract cannibal. I feel that once you start down that road, you lose all pretense to grandeur. A serial killer who cannibalizes his kills is an indomitable Nietzschean beast. A contract killer who cannibalizes his kills is just a man who makes poor life choices, both professional and nutritional, and probably needs to raise his rates if he’s that hard up for protein. I like for my work to make a statement about me, and the statement can’t be “I eat other people’s problems.”

That said, there are other, less final ways of exercising control over rude relatives. The next time your uncle acts naughty in public, I encourage you to ask him in a loud yet concerned voice whether he’s forgotten his pills again this morning. Stick to the pill story no matter what he replies. Remind him of their shape, color, and regular time of intake, and that he was supposed to take them with his “pee-pee” pills. Ask if you need to call Dr. Goldstein for a new prescription. Spin to him a colorful history of senility, fugue states, and a long-standing battle with dementia, incontinence, and Tourette’s. Be long-suffering, gentle, and above all, patronizing. Enlist friends and relatives to buttress your story. If chance permits, get a hold of his phone and create a few new contacts, like a psychiatric care facility, a geriatric care doctor’s office, an Alzheimer’s care center, and a home health aide service. His confusion and frustration should prove, if nothing else, entertaining.

Sincerely,

Gaslighter In Chief


End file.
